Authors: Sheryl Browne
Sullivan stopped in front of Ashley, whose head was bent, her hair hiding her face, as she picked at the straw and dust on the floor.
‘This one thought you were a bit of a disappointment, too,’ he droned disgustingly on, causing revulsion to rise like rancid bile in Matthew’s throat. ‘Told me you couldn’t stay the pace, didn’t you, darling?’
Ashley didn’t answer. Recoiling further into herself, she kept her gaze fixed downwards.
Crouching in front of her, clearly revelling in her humiliation, Sullivan attempted to nudge her chin up with his gun. The gun that Matthew was itching to relieve him of and shove barrel first down his throat.
‘Not talking, hey? Can’t say I blame you. Becky’s not very happy with you shagging her husband. You’re probably wise to keep schtum.’
Smirking, Sullivan got to his feet and strolled back towards Matthew.
‘Now, the pressing dilemma is, what to do with you two?’ Again he paused, standing over him, sliding the barrel of the gun this time slowly across his cheek. ‘I don’t need you, Adams, any more than she does. Careless of you to share your bank details with a wife you couldn’t be bothered to keep happy, don’t y’think?’
Feeling the cold metal brush his temple, Matthew dropped his gaze, his heart thundering inside him. He didn’t dare look at Becky now, lest he draw the bastard’s attention back to her.
‘
That …’
Sullivan lunged forward, grabbed a fistful of Matthew’s hair and slammed his head back into the wall ‘… was a fucking question!’ He lowered his face, snarling into Matthew’s.
Matthew looked into his eyes, eyes swimming with undiluted hatred, those of a raving madman.
Don’t react
, he cautioned himself. Play the game. Wait for the bastard to make a mistake.
‘Extremely careless,’ he confirmed, smiling sardonically as he gave Sullivan what he wanted.
‘Correct. But not quick enough.’ Sullivan straightened up, his intimidating expression telling Matthew what was coming next.
He didn’t use his feet to deliver the blows to his abdomen, as was his wont. Matthew guessed he wouldn’t, not when he had a heavier weapon, a sharper, more brutal weapon. The first blow, well-aimed at his solar plexus, knocked the air out of his lungs and winded him completely. Matthew doubled up, searing pain shooting through him, as the butt of the gun landed heavily again.
Wiping a hand across his salivating mouth, Sullivan loomed over him.
‘Stand up,’ he said calmly.
Gasping, Matthew couldn’t even look up, let alone stand up. The bastard knew it.
‘Are you deaf as well as pig-ignorant? I said stand up!’ Leaning down, Sullivan hooked an arm under Matthew’s and attempted to heave him up.
‘Oh for … Useless prat,’ he muttered, as Matthew struggled to find any leverage in his legs.
‘You,’ Sullivan gave up and turned to Ashley, ‘help him up. And you … Becky, sweetheart,’ he smiled flatly in her direction, ‘take the weight off your pretty feet and sit on the box, yes?’ Seeing Ashley was doing as instructed, Sullivan took a step back. Heading for his bag, he checked his mobile for coverage, leaving Ashley to it.
Glancing over her shoulder, making sure his attention was diverted, Ashley leaned quickly in towards Matthew. ‘Be ready,’ she whispered, close to his ear.
Matthew squinted at her as he managed to get to standing, trying to understand what she was saying, rather than the burning pain ripping through him.
Ashley swivelled her eyes in the direction of the bag, but then dropped her gaze quickly as Sullivan glanced in their direction.
‘All right, sweetheart, enough. I said help him up, not kiss him.’ Sighing, Sullivan turned his attention back to his phone. ‘Go back over there and sit down.’
Shooting Matthew a meaningful look, Ashley backed away.
‘Good girl,’ Sullivan commented, distractedly watching her progress. ‘Behave yourself and I might find a use for … Ah, bingo, we have a signal.’ A slow smile curving his mouth, he waved his mobile in Matthew’s direction. ‘Doesn’t take a detective to work out what’s happening next, does it, Adams?’
Pausing, Sullivan crouched to ferret in his bag. ‘That’s a question, Adams,’ he reminded him, as he retrieved his cigarettes.
Matthew smiled derisorily. ‘No, Sullivan,’ he said, looking in his direction, ‘where you’re concerned, it doesn’t take a detective to work out what’s coming next.’
Sullivan nodded, satisfied, though his expression told Matthew he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t being disrespectful. ‘Unlike some people, though, who abuse their position to intimidate and bully other people, I don’t kick a dog when it’s down, Adams. That’s why I want you standing. So I can look you in the eye when I end your miserable little life, comprendre?’
Smirking up at him, Sullivan flipped open the lid of the packet—and Matthew did a double-take. He stared disbelieving for a second, as one long-legged spider fumbled its way over the top of the packet, and then his astonished gaze shot towards Ashley.
‘I’m just trying to decide whether to let you kiss your wife goodbye,’ seemingly oblivious, Sullivan went on, his taunting eyes on Matthew’s, as he tipped the packet towards his mouth. ‘But then, I don’t suppose she wants you …’ Sullivan stopped, the look on his face one of shock, escalating to sheer terror, as the spider plopped neatly onto his face.
Instinctively sealing his mouth closed, he clawed at his cheeks, neck and torso, trying to pluck it off. Realising it had fallen into his lap, he flicked frantically at it, only to find another scurrying over his hand, heading fast for his shirtsleeve. Whimpering, as Matthew looked on, momentarily stunned, Sullivan lost his balance, falling backwards. He saved himself with his arms, but succeeded in jamming his fingers under his gun in the process.
‘
Fuck!
’ He fell all the way then, landing heavily. ‘Fuck! Ugly bastards. Get them off me!’ Scrambling backwards, he yelped hysterically, as one determined spider ran the length of his lapel. Horror-struck, Sullivan sat up swiftly. Dementedly swatting at his clothes now, the bastard was clearly petrified.
Matthew felt hope rise in his chest.
The gun.
He prayed, moving towards him, his hope to stamp Sullivan, not the spider, into the ground.
Let go of the gun, you son of a bitch.
But Sullivan was on his feet. The gun still in his hand, he continued to swipe frenziedly at his clothes, glancing down at his trousers—and Becky moved swiftly behind him, looping her tied hands over his head and around Sullivan’s neck in one smooth movement.
‘The key!’ Matthew shouted desperately, propelling Ashley into action.
Ashley wasted no time. ‘Top pocket,’ Matthew told her where to find it, as Sullivan clawed at his throat with one hand, raising the gun with his other. ‘Keep out of his aim, Ashley! Keep to his side!’
Still delving into his pocket, Ashley moved sideways. Two steps away, Matthew did too. Too late. He heard the shot, felt something graze his upper arm, a tingling sensation, pain: not too intense. Matthew didn’t falter, but took another step, and then stopped. Sullivan’s pain, he imagined, as Sullivan dropped to his knees, would be extremely intense. The kick Matthew had been intending to deliver to his gut wouldn’t have been half as effective as the one Ashley had just delivered to the man’s balls.
‘Aim it straight, Ashley,’ Matthew instructed her, as she bent to pluck up the shotgun while Sullivan’s hands were otherwise engaged. ‘And aim it low.’
‘Becky?’ Matthew turned his attention to his wife, whose tied hands were still pulling tight under Sullivan’s neck. ‘You need to let go, Becky,’ he said quietly. ‘You need to get the key to the cuffs from Ashley.’
Becky wasn’t hearing him. She wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was focussed intently on Sullivan. She pulled tighter.
‘Becky,’ aware that once Sullivan’s pain subsided, his first instinct would be to reach up and grab her, Matthew moved carefully towards her, ‘Ashley needs our help,’ he tried to connect with her. ‘Undo the cuffs, Becky, please?’
Could she even hear him? Could his words penetrate the shock and unbearable pain she must be in, override her understandable urge to squeeze the life out of the animal who’d caused it? ‘Becky?’ he repeated urgently.
She blinked, bewildered, at last looked at him, and the anguish Matthew saw in her beautiful aquamarine eyes cracked his heart wide open.
‘The key, Becky,’ he urged her softly.
Disoriented, clearly, Becky nodded slowly. Then, relaxing her grip, she slid her hands from under Sullivan’s neck and haltingly up over his face. She looked down at him, as Sullivan looked towards Ashley, her expression once again worryingly devoid of emotion. Sullivan’s expression Matthew could read. He could almost see the cogs going around in his fetid little mind. He was contemplating making a grab for the gun. Apparently, Ashley was wise to him too, stepping further away from him, as Matthew shouted, ‘Becky! The key!’
Becky nodded again, more certainly this time, and moved towards Ashley.
Releasing a hand from the gun, Ashley pressed the key between the thumb and forefingers of Becky’s right hand, and then clamped her hold determinedly around the gun again.
‘Rest your finger on the trigger, Ashley,’ Matthew instructed her quietly. ‘Squeeze it—’
‘No! Don’t!’ Sullivan’s gaze snapped to Ashley’s face. ‘Don’t tell her to squeeze it, you mad fucker!’ Sullivan looked bewildered back to Matthew. ‘Are you mental, or what?’
‘Squeeze gently, Ashley, just enough to feel the tension.’ Matthew ignored him, his attention on Ashley. ‘Hold the gun firmly. If he moves even a hair, shoot the bastard.’
‘What?’ Sullivan gawked. ‘You want her done for manslaughter?’ He looked frantically between them. ‘You’ll go to prison, sweetheart. Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t give a stuff about anyone. Look what happened to you, to her, to his colleague. He—’
‘Or his mouth,’ Matthew grated. ‘One more word, you fucking freak and you’re dog-meat.
Comprendre
?’
Though he was willing Becky to hurry, he could feel her shaking as she fumbled with the key. ‘Take a breath, Becky, and focus. You can do this.’ He kept his tone quiet, his eyes locked on Sullivan’s.
Feeling one cuff slacken, Matthew moved fast, one stride and he was clutching hold of the bastard’s designer lapels and hauling him to his feet.
‘I wasn’t going to hurt her!’ Sullivan shouted, his voice high-pitched, his expression petrified, as Matthew pulled his face up close to his.
‘Either of them, I was going to let them go.’
He was pallid, visibly shaking, Matthew noted. Pathetic piece of scum.
‘I didn’t touch her,’ Sullivan insisted, blinking rapidly. ‘I swear, I didn’t. It was all bullshit. Ask her, your wife. She’ll tell you. I didn’t. I …’ Sullivan trailed off, swallowing hard, as Matthew fixed his furious gaze unflinchingly on his.
Desperately, Sullivan searched Matthew’s eyes, in his own palpable terror.
‘I didn’t,’ he repeated faintly, his gaze now darting wildly past Matthew in hopes of rescue. ‘Please don’t …’ Sullivan swallowed again and glanced down. ‘Please … don’t hurt me.’
That was the spark that escalated the fast-burning fuse. His fury building dangerously inside him, Matthew clutched Sullivan’s collar tight.
‘How many times?’ he seethed, twisting the collar still tighter. “How many times did you make people beg, grovel and crawl? You
fucking
animal?
’
Sullivan gagged and clawed desperately at the hands at his craw.
Matthew heaved him up, ramming him backwards into the wall. ‘How does it feel,
Sullivan
?’
‘
Please.’
Sullivan pleaded through a bubble of snot.
‘Please what? Stop?’ Matthew yanked him forwards. ‘Isn’t that what they asked you to do, Sullivan? Your victims? Did they beg you to stop? The people you punched and kicked to the floor? Did my
wife?
’ He glanced quickly towards Becky, who was sitting with her knees hugged to her chest, rocking silently, shaking; driven half out of her mind.
Matthew tightened his grip. ‘Did
she
ask you to stop, you
bastard?
’
Sullivan gagged again, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
‘And
did
you stop, Sullivan?’
Sullivan nodded and then shook his head, dazed, confused. Terrified, Matthew thought, with some small satisfaction.
‘Which makes you what, Sullivan?’ he seethed, so close he could smell the man’s fear.
No answer from Sullivan, Matthew shouted, ‘That was a
question!’
‘A bully!’ Sullivan blurted.
‘And?’ Matthew waited.
Sullivan’s eyes flew wide, scanning Matthew’s, uncertain.
Matthew kept his gaze locked firmly on his.
‘A coward,’ Sullivan finally rasped.
‘Louder!’ Matthew lifted the man from his feet and slammed him back hard.
‘A coward!’ Sullivan screamed it.
Matthew sucked in a tight breath, the jagged pieces of his heart twisting painfully in his chest.
He
had the power now. He could kick this excuse of a human being until he
couldn’t
crawl, until
he
didn’t have breath enough to beg anymore.
‘Matthew?’ Ashley said uncertainly to his side.
Closing his eyes, Matthew exhaled long and hard, attempting to hold on to the values that separated men from animals. Every part of him wanted to give in to his base instincts and kill this thing parading as a human being with his bare hands. All that had sustained him was the thought of finally being able to crush him, yet, somehow, he couldn’t. Slowly, reluctantly, relaxing his grip, he watched as Sullivan crumpled and slid to his haunches, cowering at his feet now, like the weakling he was.
Sullivan blinked up at him, as Matthew struggled to bring his rage down to a controllable level.
‘Not so different, are we, Adams?’ he said after a second, dragging a hand across his mouth and then looking at him full on.
‘You and me, when the chips are down, we do what we have …’ Sullivan trailed off as Matthew reached to take the gun from Ashley, his eyes never leaving Sullivan’s.